V-Day, D-Day, Me-Day

I am in a dream. I am on the streets of New York City, and I pass a homeless teen with a sign that read, “All I have right now is twenty bucks. I’m just trying to get by.” I walked passed him, but not before I turned around and offered to buy him lunch at In-n-Out (ha). My best friend from college was suddenly there, and the three of us wandered into a subway stop. We were dancing, the three of us, when everything started shaking. I fell to the ground. Everything started to vibrate and I couldn’t hear either of them yelling at me.

I wake up. It’s Saturday. 8 a.m. I crack my eyes open to see a slew of notifications on my phone, none of which I want to read. Especially the text from an “ex best friend” informing me she’s traveling to South America with my ex-boyfriend. I roll over and go back to sleep. Hey, it was either roll my eyes or roll over. I know you’d pick sleep, too.

A year ago, I may have reacted differently. I’m an explosive mother fucker and you will know if I am pissed at you (may the odds ever be in your favor). So I may have responded, and not vey nicely. I may have told her she’s a terrible human being and has literally the worst taste in men. But I chose not to.

Why? Two reasons. First, because I don’t care. Secondly, because I care. I could care less about the ex. But I care that I lost a friend. I care that I lost someone who I had lived with, traveled with, and cried with (over this particular ex, I might add). The hardest pill to swallow, in all of this, is that my friend was no longer someone I recognized. That may seem harsh — fine. And yet, realizing that maybe you and another person are no longer meant to be friends, or are compatible, is tough. Losing friendships suck.

How do you carry that around? How to process losing a friend? Nobody tells you about the trauma that comes with losing friendships. It fucking sucks. “Every year, you have more to lose.”

So when I scream “fuck” at least once a day in my car, it’s not always a byproduct of my dating life (a whole other can of worms). Sometimes, it’s because I remember all the people that are no longer in my life. That can be a slippery slope toward nostalgia, I know. But I never go back.

My only other option is to continue yelling profanities inside my car at varying volumes, drinking cocktails at bougie bars and always pulling Irish goodbyes at parties. How else am I supposed to deal?

Everyone talks about their break-ups with partners. It is a known part of dating and falling in and out of love. We learn from a young age that this happens all the time, and it will happen to us. Heart-break is part of the process, they say. And that someday, you’ll be rewarded with finding “the one.” But I’d argue no one tells you that you’re going to lose friends, even when you don’t want to. And that will break your heart, too. That sometimes, it’s not because you live in different cities or countries, or that there’s some other external force responsible. Sometimes, you don’t like the person they’ve become. Or your interests shift. Or something changes between the two of you. Sometimes, it’s nobody’s fault. You change. They change. It happens. That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

Carrying around all your hurt can be lonely. From being unable to pick a safe word with a partner to desperately trying to forgive your friend for fucking up, it’s a cluster fuck. No shit I’d rather sip on mimosas in my backyard than go to that Tinder party (yes, this was a thing).

But I digress. If it’s going to fuck me over either way, I’d rather do it. I’d rather be let down over and over. I’d rather drink that whiskey-ginger, even if I can’t tell the difference between Jim Bean and Jameson. Because I’m doing it for me, not anyone else. Try breaking up with yourself — I dare you.